+Cam.+ Y' have reason, Dido, and 'tis well remark'd-- [_She shuts her book; and after a little pause_-- The woman who suffers herself to love Ought likewise to prepare herself to suffer. There was great power in your charms, Æneas, T' enthral a lady's heart at first approach, And make such early and such deep impressions, That nothing but her death could e'er deface. Alas, poor Dido!-- +Don A.+ O heavens! what's that I see?--or do I dream? [+Antonio+, _seeing her, starts, then stands as if amazed._ Sure, I am asleep, and 'tis a vision Of her who's always present to my thoughts; Who (fearing my revolt) does now appear To prove and to confirm my constancy. When first I saw that miracle, she seem'd An apparition; here it must be one. What fit of frenzy's this? +Ern.+ Sir, 'tis Porcia: A lovely, living woman, and your bride. +Don A.+ The blessing is too mighty for my faith. +Ern.+ Faith! Ne'er trouble your faith in this occasion; Approach her boldly, sir, and trust your sense. +Don A.+ As when we dream of some transporting pleasure, And (finding that we dream) we fear to wake, Lest sense should rob us of our fancy's treasure, And our delightful vision from us take, Bless'd apparition, so it fares with me. That very angel now once more appears, To whose divinity long since I rais'd An altar in my heart, where I have offer'd The constant sacrifice of sighs and vows. My eyes are open, yet I dare not trust 'em! Bliss above faith must pass for an illusion. If such it be, O, let me sleep for ever, Happily deceiv'd? But, celestial maid, If this thy glorious presence real be, O, let one word of pity raise my soul From visionary bliss, and make me die With real joy instead of ecstasy. Speak, speak, my destiny; for the same breath May warm my heart, or cool it into death. +Ern.+ 'Slife! he's in one of his old fits again-- Why, what d' you mean, sir? 'tis Porcia herself. +Cam.+ I am that maid, who to your virtue owes Her honour then and her disquiet since; Yet in my pain I cannot but be pleas'd To find a passion, censur'd in our sex, Justifi'd by so great an obligation. 'Tis true I blush, yet I must own the fire, To which both love and gratitude conspire. +Don A.+ Incomparable creature! can it be That, having suffer'd all which mighty love Did e'er inflict, I now should be repaid With as full joys as love could ever give? Fortune, to make my happiness complete, Has join'd her power, and made me find a bride In a lost mistress: but with this allay-- Of leaving me no means my faith to prove, Since chance anticipates the pains of love.